Page 47 of The Presidents Shadow

FOUR GUARDS STAND at the double hut where the service for Dr. Wellington Nakashima and his late wife is about to begin.

Because all of them have been working on our exploratory teams, they recognize us and bow slightly as we enter.

We bow in return and join the fifty or so people who are already inside.

The room is beautiful, peaceful. I might call it holy.

A sad celebration with a thousand white chrysanthemums and a hundred sticks of incense burning on the far side.

Men and women bow to one another. Men wear black business suits; widows are dressed in black kimonos.

So many of the mourners clutch prayer beads.

Margo and I join the line of people waiting to sign the large gold memorial book to honor the dead. As we step closer to the table where the book is resting, we see a handsome young Japanese man. He speaks and bows to each person who approaches.

“I think that’s Dr. Nakashima’s son, Jason. I’ve seen photographs of him on the internet,” Margo whispers.

Then it is our turn to sign the document of mourning. Immediately the welcoming smile that greeted other guests disappears from his face. Because he does not bow to us, Margo and I bow to him. He does not return the gesture. Instead he yells—loud and angry.

“Your presence for mourning has not been requested!” he shouts. His words are loud, and his English pronunciation is impeccable.

Margo, Burbank, and I look at one another, not understanding the reason for his anger.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“ YOU HAVE NOT BEEN INVITED! ” he says, shouting now.

As is often the case, I consider using mind control to calm the young man. Margo takes a wiser and less radical approach: sympathy and understanding.

“Please, honorable and sorrowful son, forgive our discourtesy. We are ignorant in the customs of Japanese funeral rituals. But…” Margo looks at me. Her assumption is that I will complete her thought. Miraculously, it comes to me. As always, the truth is easy to welcome.

“But we mourn your loss. We open our hearts out of respect to your father and your mother. If our presence disturbs you, we shall, of course, leave. But with your permission we long to stay and pray.”

As cold and angry as his face looked, now everything changes. His eyes fill with tears. His lips quiver slightly. He bows, long and deep.

“Forgive me,” he says. “You both honor my late parents with your presence. Please stay.”